


Gumdrops

by nervoussis



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Autistic Eleven | Jane Hopper, Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Good Sibling Billy Hargrove, Pining, Prom, Skateboarding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis
Summary: Max takes a deep breath, and.Lifts her eyes. The girl is staring at her, eyebrows drawn together in a look of pure concentration. Curly tendrils frame an angelic face, brushing against cheeks the exact shade and size of peach gumdrops. She's.Pretty.So fucking pretty, so. Max tries for a smile, and. Must look like she's having a stroke because the girl laughs. Tinkling bells, and. Dawn breaking over misty fields.The girl says, "Your name is Maxine?"And Max says, "Max," like a fucking idiot, before reaching for a handshake. Like they're middle aged business partners settling an important issue. The girl just looks at her hand and smiles back finally, finally, and Max mentally unpacks her emergency suitcase."I'm Jane," The girl says softly. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Jane Eileen Hopper, but. My friends. They say El."Max is halfway through forming the initial, does that mean we're friends, thought before the girl.Jane.El. Is disappearing with Jennifer Hayes through the open door.(or) how we got here
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Billy Hargrove, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Comments: 21
Kudos: 42





	Gumdrops

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first elmax fic. I'm a harringrove girl through and through so if you don't vibe with Older Brothers Helping Their Younger Siblings Accept Being Gay Because They are as Well, please feel free to use the back button!  
> I hope you enjoy this lil drabble, and--  
> Bright Solstice to you!

Friendship, when it settles hot and heavy across the line of Max's shoulders, feels right against her skin. Like a method of containment to keep from floating away. Billy always says her head's full of hot air; helium and big ideas, and. Things that aren't possible for kids like them. The ones who grew up fast, plants given far too much sunlight. 

Max feels like. Maybe she's broken, or. Damaged. When the other kids don't reflect the same growth, the same feverish path toward adolescence. "They just aren't as smart as you, kid," Billy says. It's their second week in Hawkins. The leaves paint amber backdrops to a tearful car ride home, Billy sneaking bites of her candy bar in exchange for a cigarette. "Here," he says.

Max raises an eyebrow. "The last time I smoked you gave me a noogie." She takes it anyway, when Billy doesn't snatch it back.

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, eyes flitting between Max and the road, Max and the road, in a way that used to scare the shit out of her. When they were both coming apart at the seams. "You're a lost cause, kid. Besides. Might make you feel better."

And it does. 

The first harsh inhale eases the sting of being the outsider, the new kid, the weirdo, the freak. Max hotboxes her cigarette, window cracked to let in the unique smell of barley and pine that already saturates the leather seat next to Billy's in. Their Camaro. Their clubhouse. He drives past Cherry Lane to the quarry, where Billy lets her pick the music to flavor an afternoon of feeling sorry for themselves.

Depeche Mode filters through the chilly afternoon air, and Billy. Smiles. From across the median, which Max still isn't used to, already lighting another cigarette for himself. After the second verse of _Lie To Me,_ Billy wrinkles his nose.

"So, tell me what happened." He says.

And Max clings to the feeling of being a part of something. Close to someone who revels in that closeness. Max is like a monkey on a tree while Billy listens mutely to her whine and complain about the kids at school. The mouth breathers, the sharks at the top of the food chain, and. A patch of warm sunlight in the form of a girl.

Billy immediately comes alive at that, shifting his weight and lowering the music, until. "What kinda girl?"

Max blinks, tossing her cigarette butt through the open window. "I dunno, like. A human girl?"

"I meant, like. Where's she fall on the food chain, dipshit."

Max thinks about the girl with her rosy cheeks, and. That uniform, the. One with the pleated skirt. Thinks about her fluffy green sweaters and the lunch table by the window where she pushes away every jock-block arm that finds its place around her neck. 

Max sighs, skull thunking against the car door.

Billy doesn't even wait for a response. "So why don't you talk to her?"

"To who?"

"Little Miss Perfect, dumbass." Billy taps along to the music, mouth ticked up at one corner. Max wants to.

Punch it off his face.

"Are you insane, she's a cheerleader."

"So?"

 _"So,_ she's probably, like. Betrothed to an asshole with a big dick and no brain." Max laments, reluctantly nodding along to the opening chords of _People are People._

Billy shrugs again. The whole cab sways with the weight of his shoulders and Max chances a look at him.

She immediately regrets it, when he wags his tongue like an idiot.

"Who said anything about planting one on her?"

"I did." Max would deny that it came out as a whine, because. It fucking _didn't,_ alright. Billy grins anyhow, dodging her sweater when it flies through the air toward his head. "You haven't _seen this girl,_ Billy, she's like. Gorgeous. Pink jolly ranchers and angel food cake, or something."

Billy gags. "Fucking gross that you'd compare her to food like that."

Max does her best to glare. The ache in her heart dulls when Billy settles, watching her with their special shade of Hargrove-Mayfield blue.

His eyes go soft in the middle first, "You should talk to her anyway," he says.

And Max.

She thinks it could be worth a shot.

\--

Jolly Rancher sits next to her in English. Scribbling notes and muttering under her breath because apparently _reading silently to yourself_ translates to _reading very quietly under your breath,_ and Max should find it annoying. Should speak to Mrs. Fleming after class about switching seats with one of the thousands of idiot boys who can't keep their eyes off of her, but.

Max tries to focus on other shit.

"You haven't turned the page," Says a voice like summer rain. 

Max immediately bristles. "What?"

"You sit, and. Listen to me?" 

"Yeah, but. No. I mean. Absolutely not, that would be. So weird." Max isn't going to look over at the girl. Can't, wouldn't survive it, as she scribbles a note in the margins of page 53 and erases it again. 

The girls shifts in her seat. 

Closer, or. Farther away, Max can't tell, until that voice falls all around them again. "You think I'm weird?"

And.

Yeah? This is the longest, the _only,_ conversation they've ever had and Max feels like she's being put on trial, or. Studied under a microscope while a watermelon Jolly Rancher tries to figure out what strain of virus she is. Max writes another note and erases that too, before flicking the shavings onto the floor. 

"Does reading out loud help you understand?"

The girl makes a soft noise, like. The bloom of two rose petals, separating at birth. Max's face is hot before she knows what's happening, and then the girl is leaning back in her chair, kicking up something that smells like coconut frosting. "I think so."

Max still doesn't look. "Then it doesn't bother me."

It's quiet after that, as if the girl is trying to figure out what it means. Max pretends to read her book, memorizing page 53 before flipping through the chapter in a way that feels right, as if to prove that she isn't listening to the gentle rise and fall of that voice even though it's all she can fucking think about. Mrs. Fleming ends their session just as the bell rings, and when Max stands to grab her bag from the floor a hand is already holding it out for her. 

"Thanks." She grunts, and. Doesn't look even though Jolly Rancher seems to be waiting. Max tosses the bag over one shoulder and thinks of Billy. The fucking field day he'd have if he saw the way she's acting right now, like a turtle afraid to peak out of her shell.

Max takes a deep breath, and.

Lifts her eyes. The girl is staring at her, eyebrows drawn together in a look of pure concentration. Curly tendrils frame an angelic face, brushing against cheeks the exact shade and size of peach gumdrops. She's.

Pretty.

So fucking pretty, so. Max tries for a smile, and. Must look like she's having a stroke because the girl laughs. Tinkling bells, and. Dawn breaking over misty fields. 

The girl says, "Your name is Maxine?"

And Max says, "Max," like a fucking idiot, before reaching for a handshake. Like they're middle aged business partners settling an important issue. The girl just looks at her hand and smiles back finally, _finally,_ and Max mentally unpacks her emergency suitcase.

"I'm Jane," The girl says softly. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Jane Eileen Hopper, but. My friends. They say El."

Max is halfway through forming the initial, _does that mean we're friends,_ thought before the girl.

Jane.

 _El._ Is disappearing with Jennifer Hayes through the open door.

\--

So that's how it starts. With gently smiles and whispered conversations that begin and end with monosyllabic words, like. 

"Hi, Max."

She nearly chokes on her gum. The kind that's supposed to hide the stench of cigarette smoke because, contrary to what he says, Billy will tan her Hyde for sneaking a pack from the Camaro this morning. 

"Um," Max tries intelligently, siting up straight in her chair because apparently this is important. "Hi, Jane."

"El." She says, and. Max just nods. Like a fucking robot with rusted bolts and shit, because _my friends say El._

Mrs. Fleming starts class and Max.

Starts a friendship without even knowing it. The smiles get bolder, more vibrant, with each passing week. The girl--El--mails secret smiles in the hallways, and. Waves in the lunch room, much to the sneering disgust of half the cheerleading team because Max sits with the has-beens.

Billy and his friend Steve, and their. Rag tag group of nobodies. A gaggle of older kids who are just as lame as she is, but. As the days turn warmer, El follows suit. Fuzzy green is switched out for tank tops and denim shorts and Max spends three weeks leading up to Valentines day trying to spit it the fuck out.

_I like you._

It never happens. Valentines day comes--with El in a fuzzy pink skirt and a little sweater covered in _hearts,_ for Christ-sake--and goes. With Billy and Steve holding hands all of a sudden. Max tries not to be jealous, or.

Childish about the whole thing. El has started hanging out in the library after school, where Max works part time, and. Things are looking up for a while. Friendship, real and true, itches like a second skin beneath Max's flesh, and.

It's late February when El shows up to English with a Valentine.

Three weeks after the debut of her fuzz pink skirt, in a _Tears For Fears_ hoodie that brings out her eyes, El slips the Valentine under Max's elbow in a way that doesn't immediately call attention to itself. And turns to face the blackboard while the envelope is torn open. The card read, and.

Reread five times.

_Blue is pretty. So are you._

Max, she. Feels like the room is on fire. It means something, right? It has to. She tucks the glittery pink _heart_ into her wallet. The one that Billy gifted at Christmas last year--black leather with a chain that hangs from her beltloop and Max is struck by how.

Different.

They are. Smooth edges and sharp lines. She rubs at the back of her neck while Mrs. Fleming covers the hero's journey and wishes, like always, for Billy. For a pack of reds and the sharp sting of the quarry just after nightfall. For it, anything, everything, to make sense.

Class ends and El waits for Max to gather her shit into a pile before saying, "I was scared to give it to you."

Which. "The valentine?" Max is surprised by how. Calm. Her voice sounds.

"Yes. I kept it in my jewelry box." 

They walk to their next class together now.

In front of everyone, like. Friends.

Their shoulders brush with every step. Max tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Why'd you keep it so long?" 

"I was afraid."

"That's dumb." Max snorts. "Valentines aren't just for romantic love, they can. Mean any type of love, you know?"

They stop at the vending machine so El can buy a Nature Valley before cheer practice. The coins fall like bombs into the slot, clattering all the way down while the light from the machine highlights the curve of El's nose.

Max tries not to get lost in it. In her, when El says, "We are friends, aren't we?"

"Of course," Max says. Harshly, quickly, as if to burn away any doubts El has about. What they are.

She turns, already taking a bite from the granola bar.

Honey oat. Her favorite.

"I want to see your house." El says casually.

And. 

"Right, because. That's what friends do." 

She takes a bite of the granola bar that El offers, nibbling on the corner just like everyday, only.

It isn't everyday that someone wants to peer into Max's life. 

They start walking again, shoulders knocking together. "Does that mean I can come?" El pushes, and. 

"My family is really embarrassing."

"So is mine, Max."

"No, like. They're _r_ _eally_ embarrassing." Max works through it in her head. Billy lifting weights in the family room. Her mom baking pounds of cookies so their guest feels welcome, and. Neil. Drunk on the couch.

They arrive in front of the locker room doors and Max shifts her bag from shoulder to shoulder, looking anywhere but into those dopey brown eyes. "You won't want to be my friend after my brother keeps you up all night lifting weights and blaring Metallica."

"My dad watches sad t.v. sometimes." El says, and. 

It's really cute. Max tugs on the chain of her wallet, hyper aware of a heart shaped brick nestled between her learners permit and a punch card for _Chuck E. Cheese._ "I don't think it's a good idea." She says, but El isn't buying it.

"Why not?"

"My step dad's kind of an asshole, and he doesn't take well to strangers," Max lists, "Plus, Steve will probably sneak in to hang out with Billy so the whole place will be on triple lock down, and I just don't--" 

She clamps a hand over her mouth. Billy and Steve, Steve and Billy, it's all. Off limits. Dangerous, and Max thinks of a million and one ways to back track before realizing that El doesn't even seem to notice, or. Care. She takes one final bite from her granola bar and hands the rest to Max, like always, before dusting her palms and promising to meet her out front after school on Friday for their sleep over.

Fuck. 

\--

Billy thinks of a million and one reasons why their little shin dig is definitely happening. "Stop using Neil as an excuse, shitbird, she's obviously into you."

"I'm not using Neil as an excuse--"

"Um, you definitely _are--"_

"He's a very real threat, Billy, you know that."

"Yeah, but, not to you." He pulls into the Burger Hut drive thru, paying the six cars ahead of them no mind whatsoever. Billy puts the Camaro in park before, like, shifting around to have a real conversation about the whole think, which.

Only serves to make Max bristle. "Bullshit," She says. Because--"He thinks girls should be kept in their rooms until they're old enough to qualify as a child bride to some rich asshole oil magnate."

Billy snorts. "Your opinion of men is, like. Fucked up."

"Do you disagree?"

Billy shifts the car forward as the line inches, as progress is made. "Guess not."

"Then shut up."

"I won't, though." He smirks. Because, that's what big brothers do aside from lending the occasional five dollar bill and spare noogie when the mood strikes. "Fucking think about it. This girl is begging to spend some time alone with you after hand making a fucking Valentine that was three weeks overdue because she was nervous of what you'd say? I mean. Come on, Max, that doesn't sound. Suspicious, to you?"

Billy stares at her, like. Do the fucking math. 

Only.

The math adds up to broken hearts and sweaty palms and relocating to a new town, again, because _both_ of Neil's children are queer somehow. She thunks her head against the glove box dramatically as the drivers side window is rolled down. Billy orders two number ones and a cherry milkshake for Max, because.

While she was off falling in love with straight girls he learned a thing or two about what makes her tick. The ointment for endless shitty days.

Whatever.

Billy puts the Camaro in park again and moves to light a cigarette, the two cars in front of them blocking their path to a typical Wednesday night veg. Max sits and rubs at her forehead, glaring at the drive thru window. "Why do you always pick Burger Hut?" 

Billy shrugs. 

And it's normal enough, like. Burger Hut is the closest fast food joint to home, and their cherry milkshakes have chunks of real fruit in them, but. Max has listened to him complain a billion times about the fries being cold and bland because their staff is undertrained, and.

"They aren't that bad," Billy says.

"They move at a fucking snails pace, dude." She doesn't really get it, _him,_ until they pull up to the window, and.

Steve Harrington is standing there.

In a burger hat.

Cherub face cracking into an enormous, disgusting grin at Billy's rat mullet head rolling thru on a Wednesday.

"Hargrove, man, what're you up to?" He says, and Billy fucking.

Melts.

"Hey, just takin' the sister out for a slice." 

"This...is a burger joint?" Steve tries, and Billy's ears redden in a way they haven't in.

Months.

Years, probably. Billy fumbles for his wallet and an excuse, all, "Yeah, but. Same type of. Comfort food, or whatever." He hands over a wad of bills. Clearly too much for a couple of sandwiches and Steve counts the change, grinning wider and wider until Max thinks his face is going to snap in half for _sure._

Steve gives them their drinks and, like, a handful of ketchup packets before disappearing from the window.

Max takes their brief moment alone to sucker punch Billy right over the stupid lipstick smudge on his jacket. "Ow, what the fuck was that for?" He howls, even though it didn't hurt.

Couldn't hurt, the guy's solid muscle, but.

Max takes another swing. "You aren't together yet, are you?"

"Not exactly--"

"I saw you holding hands under the table last week."

Billy frowns. "When?" He asks, all. Fucking prove it to me.

"Tuesday. Honey ham day."

"Fuck." Billy scrubs a hand over his face, and. Seems to think it through. The next step. Steve slides the window open again, passing off a bag of burgers with a gentle, _see you around, Billy._

And they're tearing out of the parking lot before Max can ask any more questions.

The drive down Cherry Lane is silent. She fucks with the subwoofer so Bananarama filters through with just a kick more bass, and Billy seethes behind the wheel over _something_ Max can't quite name, but. It doesn't have anything to do with her. That's something they've talked about--it rarely has anything to do with her, the. Flash of anger.

The old Billy.

Max waits for him to shine through but it never happens, the new Billy just works it out, mulls it over, as the Camaro is thrown into park and Max tries to balance both bags and the cherry milkshake on her skateboard. She gets the door open and one foot on the driveway before Billy says--

"He haunts me."

Which. Doesn't make any sense.

She turns back around, fry hanging between her teeth. "What?"

"Steve, he. Makes me nervous."

And it throws her for a loop. Billy doesn't get nervous--angry, sure, but never. Nervous, or. Afraid. She tugs the door shut again, skateboard perched lightly on her kneecaps while Billy works through his shit again and she just. Waits.

Supports.

He tosses his cigarette through the window and peeks at Max from the corner of is eye. "Being nervous, 's not. Necessarily a bad thing, though." 

She groans. "I'm not inviting El for the sleepover, Billy--"

"She might surprise you--"

"I'm _not."_ She snarls. Max turns to glare out the window to stop from. Punching the dashboard or breaking out in hives, or. Both. "She's pretty and smart and popular and I know the second she steps foot in that fucking _house,_ she won't want to be my friend anymore."

Billy lets it sit for a minute. Her outburst, before chuckling.

"Lemme see that Valentine?" He says, and before Max registers the movement she's gingerly fishing it from her wallet, and.

Handing it over.

Billy has another cigarette hanging from his mouth because the guy's a fucking chimney, but he wipes his hands on his pants before taking the delicate pink heart and reading it with his fingertips lightly brushing the edge.

Billy reads it once, twice, three times, before handing it over again, and just.

Leaning back in his set.

Smoking, with that fucking _grin_ on his face, and. Max can't take it. She folds the heart back up in her wallet and frowns. "Spit it out, dipshit."

And Billy, he's.

Smug as a bug in a rug. Asshole.

"I don't think you gotta worry about her not wanting to be your friend anymore, kid."

"Huh?"

"Blue is pretty and you are too?" He quotes.

Billy grabs the milkshake from Max's skateboard, slurping obnoxiously before rolling the cherry stem between his teeth. Cigarette smoke and cherry is. A unique combination. Theirs and theirs alone, forged from many-a-distraught afternoon in this car.

Billy, when he speaks again, sounds genuine. 

"She already doesn't wanna be your friend anymore."

And Max.

Wishes she could disappear.


End file.
